Ebulliometry: A Crash Course
by lisbon99
Summary: 'Van Pelt has the sudden and unshakeable suspicion that Lisbon knows exactly who just called her. It follows, then, that Lisbon ignored the phone call deliberately.' Who is John Fox, why is he so determined to track down Lisbon, and why is that a significant problem for Jane? [Jane/Lisbon; multi-chapter story]
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Ebulliometry: A Crash Course

**Disclaimer**: Property of Bruno Heller

**Author's Notes**:-

1) **Ebulliometry** = the determination of boiling points of liquids or the change of boiling point of a liquid owing to the presence of dissolved material [Merriam Webster definition]. I shall leave you to decide for yourself why I chose it as the title ;)

2) I started writing this during Season 4, when Wainwright was around, but it was intended to be set post-Red John. So this entire story will remain RJ-free for the duration.

3) This story is **not** related in any way to my previous one-shot. I'll mention that at the beginning and expand on it a little more in a further note at the end.

* * *

The phone is ringing in Lisbon's office.

To be more accurate, the phone is ringing in Lisbon's office, and she's outside in the bullpen, and she can _hear_ it ringing, but she's not answering it. Van Pelt is going crazy.

'Crazy' manifests itself by making her twitch uncomfortably in her seat around the big table where they're discussing poor Mr Gunther, whose severed head was discovered in a restaurant dumpster two days ago. Between waiting for his body to resurface, and dealing with his hysterical wife, they've got their hands full right now.

That doesn't really explain why Lisbon isn't answering her phone, though.

"Um, boss?" she tries quietly, but Lisbon's in the middle of a slideshow of The Life of Mr Gunther.

The phone stops ringing; Van Pelt hears the faint tinny voice of the answering machine, but feels no better. What if the call relates to this case? To another case? To work - to _anything_?

She... might have a little OCD when it comes to phones. It's not a big deal.

Lisbon reaches a natural pause, and Van Pelt speaks without planning to. "Uh, boss, you had a phone call just then. There's a message, I think."

Lisbon's hand flies to her cell as she frowns. "No, I don't. It didn't ring."

"No, uh, your office phone."

Lisbon's expression changes - mouth tightening, frown deepening, and eyes conveying a look of deep dissatisfaction. "Oh," she says flatly. "It's fine, I'll get it later."

_Hmm_. Van Pelt has the sudden and unshakeable suspicion that Lisbon knows exactly who just called her. It follows, then, that Lisbon ignored the phone call deliberately.

That's interesting.

Jane obviously thinks so too, because he's scrutinising Lisbon carefully, his eyes following her every movement. Next thing, he's on his feet with the speed of a cheetah, pushing his chair away from the table and making a beeline for her office.

Lisbon is puzzled for only a matter of seconds before her brain catches up, and then she's after him in hot pursuit, sparing a moment to cast a dark look at Van Pelt. "Jane!" she bellows. "Jane, don't you dare -"

Jane dares. Of course Jane dares.

The rest of the team, now hovering at a safe distance at the entrance to the bullpen, can hear the beep of the answer machine, and a man's voice, loud and clear through the speakers. "Hi, Teresa, it's John Fox again. Listen, I know we both enjoy this little dance, but I'd really like you to call me as soon as possible - I've got an offer that I think might be more appealing to -"

There's the sound of a smack against plastic, and John Fox's voice is abruptly cut off.

They can't see, from this angle, what happens next, but Jane flees the office at alarming speed, with a trace of genuine fear for his safety in his expression. "Warpath, warpath," he warns them as he passes.

Lisbon exits the office, door slamming behind her, face as stormy as Kansas in twister season as she speedwalks down the hallway towards them. "Jane," she hisses at the man currently sitting at the table, trying to look innocent, "I will kill you."

That's no doubt true, Van Pelt thinks, but even if she does, they've all heard of John Fox now.

And it's only a matter of time before they get to the bottom of who he is.

* * *

Rigsby thinks the boss is sort of cute, in a tiny-and-dangerous sort of way. It's a little disturbing how similar to Sarah she can sometimes be; in fact, he spends large amounts of time expelling thoughts like those from his head. (It's also one of the reasons he tries so hard not to talk to Jane about his relationship.)

Anyway, the point is, the boss has her attractive qualities. He can see why some of the new agents develop puppy love for her and insist on following her around; he can also see why Mashburn wasted no time hiding his intentions. So it doesn't come as a complete surprise to hear that some other guy is in the picture.

What does surprise him is that, about two hours after that initial phone call, they're all arriving back at the bullpen after a long and difficult session interviewing Mr Gunther's large family. Jane is already saying that he knows who the killer is, Lisbon is telling him to stop show-boating and do some real police work, and... Agent Wainwright is sitting at the meeting table, looking altogether too comfortable.

"Agents," he greets them cheerfully, "how goes the investigation?"

Lisbon's shrugging her jacket off and stepping on Jane's toe simultaneously to discourage him from talking. "Too slowly, sir. No body, no apparent motive, and no real evidence. But - we'll get there."

Wainwright raises an eyebrow. "I admire your optimism, Agent Lisbon. Under the circumstances, I think you're doing the best job you could."

He stands, and Rigsby's starting to think this guy shows up because he misses the action. "Oh, and Agent Lisbon," Wainwright continues, "give John Fox a call, will you? He's tying up my office line."

Lisbon freezes.

If Rigsby had blinked, he would have missed it, but he sees it right in front of him.

Lisbon and Cho glance - ever so quickly - at each other. And then, just as quickly, it's gone and Rigsby's left wondering 'what the heck?'

"Uh," says Lisbon, "right. Of course, sir. Right away."

Wainwright nods, but he's giving Lisbon a speculative look. "Just keep doing the best job you can," he says cryptically, and Lisbon must understand what this means - maybe - because she averts her eyes and nods.

When Wainwright's gone, Lisbon and Cho glance at each other again; she rubs the back of her neck and says, "Okay, you all know what you're supposed to be doing. I'm going to see Forensics about the tox screen."

"Not making a phone call, boss?" says Cho.

Rigsby knows Cho pretty well, all things considered. He knows when Cho's deadly serious, and when he's just kidding.

Cho's tone says he's damn near hysterical.

"Not right now," Lisbon murmurs as she leaves the bullpen.

So - further information, then, Rigsby thinks as he sits down at his desk.

Whoever John Fox is, he's not afraid to go above Lisbon's head. He's starting to think the guy might not be a potential boyfriend after all.

* * *

It happens the following morning, when they're all nursing coffees and digesting - terrible pun, Jane thinks - the news that Mr Gunther's arms have been found, shoddily buried, in a local park. Half of the evidence is sitting in the stomachs of birds and rodents whose fate is to be tracked down by pest control and brought in for further examination.

Jane hopes they don't get caught. It seems kind of unfair, in his book.

Lisbon's at the meeting table, staring sightlessly at paperwork. Jane's pretty sure she didn't call the mysterious 'John Fox' yesterday, and he's hoping to enlist Van Pelt for a little detective work later on; she'll definitely be up for it, especially while she's still convinced that he's a potential boyfriend.

Jane's got his suspicions, but he's keeping those to himself.

So there they are, a fixed tableau of tired people.

Cho's phone rings. He answers it with a sharp, "Cho."

Whoever's talking at the other end is clearly both unexpected but familiar to him. "Uh-huh," he says, not moving, not writing anything down. "Uh-huh."

Jane catches it. It's so brief it's barely there - a flicker of Cho's eyes - in Lisbon's direction.

"Yeah," Cho's saying, "I'm not going to do that. And for what it's worth, I think you might be waiting a while."

He obviously intended that to be the end of the conversation, but grits his teeth as the person on the other end of the phone keeps talking. "Look, man," Cho says eventually, "just do it yourself, or come in person. I don't care." He hangs up abruptly.

"Let me guess," says Lisbon's tired voice, muffled behind the hands she's currently scrubbing over her face. "Our friend?" She attempts to stifle a yawn to no avail.

"Wants you to call him."

She shrugs, and lays her head down on the table. "Later."

Van Pelt and Rigsby look as though they want to interject, but don't know how. Jane enjoys interjecting quite a lot, so he's happy to take the burden. "Come now, Lisbon," he says. "Don't leave the poor man hanging. All we're doing is waiting, after all."

She lifts her head and glares at him. "I am trying. To. Nap." she barks. "Stop pestering me, Jane."

"Even if I stop, the intriguing Mr Fox is certainly persistent - a more economic use of your time would be to call him and give him the same message."

She groans, and pulls herself slowly to her feet. "If anybody wants me, I'll be asleep on my couch. Do Not Disturb," she adds sternly as she leaves the bullpen.

Jane makes a noise of dissatisfaction. "Probably won't call him. That's a little disappointing." He turns and fixes Cho with a piercing stare. "So - you're in John Fox's phonebook?"

Cho just blinks at him. "What's your point?"

"And Lisbon referred to him as 'our friend'," Jane continues, undaunted. "Which suggests that both you and Lisbon have previously met John Fox; you're calling him 'man', so you've spent enough time with him to be comfortable speaking casually. Here's what I think - I think you know exactly what he's calling Lisbon about, because I think he's called her about it before. And you think it's... hmm... equal parts amusing and annoying." He grins. "Well?"

Cho rolls his eyes. "Whatever. You want to know more, ask Lisbon. But do yourself a favour - don't piss her off too much before Fox gets here."

Interesting.

Cho means it, Jane realises - it's a genuine concern. So what does that mean? If Jane pisses Lisbon off, and John Fox arrives, what might Lisbon do differently?

Screw him in her office?

Jane finds that thought strangely hard to stomach, and decides to scrub it from his brain altogether.

He sits back, half-frowning as he tries to peer through the blinds in Lisbon's office.

If Lisbon doesn't call John Fox soon - he'll do it himself.

* * *

In the end, neither of them have to.

Jane decides to let the team in on the secret of 'Who Killed Mr Gunther, and Where Is The Rest of Him?' when it suits him, which of course allows him to hide behind Rigsby as Mr Gunther's neighbour shows his psychotic nature to the world... or, at least, most of Acacia Avenue. Mr Nelson is running, screaming, down the street, and Jane thinks he must be a jaded pseudo-cop by now, because all he can think is, 'why can't this guy just come quietly?'

Lisbon sprints down the street after him, and tackles him to the ground. Mr Nelson flails briefly, then collapses. Cho strolls over like he belongs - like he's just going to borrow a cup of sugar - and handcuffs the guy, hauling him off to the van.

Lisbon brushed her jeans off, goes to talk to the Gunther family, and comes back to the car bearing a cookie wrapped in a napkin. "They insisted," she begins to say, defensively perhaps, but Jane leans across and breaks off a quarter, eating it without remorse.

She gapes at him. "What - You - What? Jane!" And she stuffs the rest of it hurriedly into her mouth before he can take any more.

He grins all the way back to Sacramento.

The business with John Fox is completely out of his head when they arrive back at the CBI building.

So when they all walk into the bullpen, tired but happy, ready to finish up the paperwork and go home - they don't immediately notice the man sitting on Jane's couch.

Of course, Jane does have a supernatural ability to sense unwanted intrusions onto the couch, so he's the first to notice.

What he sees is a tall man in a dark suit; dark rumpled-looking hair, a light growth of stubble, and a determined set of his jaw. He's an agent, Jane knows that right away, and not just from the fact that his gun is showing - he looks confident, strong, athletic, with the mixed small scrapes and scars that say he's tackled enough criminals to the ground.

He looks up as they walk in; his eyes seek and find Lisbon in an instant, and he stands immediately. "Teresa!" The look on his face is a mixture of exasperation and excitement.

Lisbon stops dead, right in front of Jane; Jane can't see her expression, but he guesses it's a fixed mask of discomfort. "Agent Fox," she says stiffly. "Don't you think this crosses a few boundaries?"

He smiles at her then, shoving his hands into his pockets as he crosses the distance between them. "Not so much," he shrugs. "I was in the area anyway. That's why I've been calling so much; I have to head back to DC tomorrow night, so there's a limited time to discuss... the matter," he finishes awkwardly, glancing around at her team.

Lisbon folds her arms across her chest. "Let's go into my office."

As they start to move away, Jane is seized unexpectedly by a sudden and brutal sensation of anger and anxiety lodging in his chest. He sets his jaw and, with reckless determination, clears his throat. "You're not going to introduce us, Lisbon?

She throws a scowl over her shoulder at him. "You already know who he is, Jane."

"Yes, but he doesn't know me." Jane's grin feels a little forced; he tries not to think about it too much. "Patrick Jane - pleased to meet you." He extends his hand for Fox to shake. "Lisbon's been very secretive about you. We all thought you were her persistent lover or something."

He hears Van Pelt squawk behind him at the same time Lisbon elbows him forcefully in the gut. "Shut your cookie-hole, will you?" she grits out.

Fox drops Jane's hand, and smiles awkwardly. "Uh, no, nothing like that - "

Lisbon clears her throat loudly. "He's just digging for information," she tells him. "I find the best solution is to _ignore_ him."

She glares again at Jane as she's leading Fox into her office, and mouths, 'Stop messing around,' at him, out of sight of the others.

Jane gives her a cheery wave and a smile.

Inside, though, he's never been more certain that he absolutely, categorically, _one hundred per cent_ is not messing around at all.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Okay, cards on the table – I started writing this about a year ago, in small chunks at work (I disguised it as an email and saved it in my drafts folder). Then I left it for a while, and when the Lisbon subplot for 5x13 came about, I rediscovered it. Now, I wrote a 5x13 speculative piece called 'This Is The Hour' which dealt with that… but after re-reading this fic, I really wanted to finish and post it. So I apologise if you're basically getting two similar-ish fics in a short space of time. They are not related in any way.

Hope you enjoyed reading; more to come soon!


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Ebulliometry: A Crash Course

**Disclaimer**: Property of Bruno Heller

**Author's Note:** Many thanks to the lovely people who reviewed! I'm not sure how obvious John's purpose in calling/visiting Lisbon was in the last chapter - this chapter goes into more detail and hopefully will make things clearer.

* * *

Lisbon eyeballs John Fox over the rim of her coffee mug. "A lot of people would take a hint," she mutters.

She's smiling, though.

"I'm just trying to give you a fair shot," he replies, from his position on her couch. "Who knows? This might be the last time I make this offer."

Lisbon doesn't read people like Jane does, but she's not stupid, either. Her smile grows a little as she leans back in her chair. "I might be happy about that."

John doesn't look remotely concerned. "Come on, Teresa, you're a practical person. You wouldn't be happy if I stopped trying to recruit you, just as I wouldn't be happy if you pulled your gun on me and forced me to leave and never come back." He pauses on an intake of breath, and she has the feeling he wished he hadn't said that. His mouth twists into a rueful grin. "Would make an interesting show for your team, though."

Her index fingers fly, somewhat automatically, to her temples. "No doubt," she mutters.

John puts his empty coffee mug on the table, reaches down, and gently tugs his shoes off. "That Jane guy," he says casually, as he makes himself comfortable reclining on the couch, still facing her, "what's his deal?"

Her soft sigh contains all the things she will find it difficult to put into words. "Actually, I'm a little surprised you're not trying to recruit him instead of me. He's kind of... legendary." She cups her chin in her hand and examines John carefully. "You must have heard of him."

His gaze is intense; he has a funny way of seeming a lot closer than he really is when he watches her like that. "I certainly have. But I don't think I... or many people, for that matter... could handle him the way he needs to be handled." His hesitation is only momentary. "He doesn't like me."

She feels oddly nervous. "He's not good with new people. Especially in law enforcement."

"He seems comfortable with you."

"It took him about seven years to get that way." She's not sure whether she's defending him or not. "Why do you want to know, anyway?"

John shrugs. "I'm not looking to recruit him. I just want to know if he's a barrier to me recruiting you."

She blinks at him. "What?"

For the first time, John looks a little uncomfortable. "He's obviously fond of you. He doesn't like me." He meets her eyes directly. "Would I be splitting up more than a team?"

Her mouth drops open. "What? No! John, how can... just - no, okay? It's not like that with me and Jane. At all."

"Okay, okay." He holds up his hands. "Sorry to pry. He comes across as jealous, is all."

She snorts softly. "He's a meddler. It's all he does. Oh, and occasionally solve crimes - usually as a byproduct of meddling."

John grins at her, and she feels a stupid little flutter in her chest. He's an attractive man, and he's exactly her type. When he'd first tried to recruit her, she'd thought maybe the bureau knew a disturbing amount about her tastes and had sent the perfect kind of bait to reel her in. Now, she understands it was just a coincidence. But as annoying as John Fox can often be, he can equally be a happy diversion to her otherwise frustrating workday.

"Listen," says John, "it's getting late, and if I keep occupying your time you'll be here until midnight doing paperwork. How about dinner?" He glances at his watch. "Say, seven thirty?"

She gives the stack of forms on her desk a critical once-over. "Better make it eight."

"Deal." He's surprisingly energetic as he almost leaps off the couch. "Same place as last time?"

"Steak," she replies. "Steak, steak."

He shuffles into his shoes. "Steak. Got it. Steak you later. Shall I steak you up?"

"No, I'll steak you there. Gotta steak home first, get steaked."

"Arrghh." He rubs a hand over his face. "I'm so hungry now. Stop it, woman, or I'll accidentally eat a burger before I get back to the motel."

"Fine, then." She makes a 'shoo' motion with her hands. "Get going. I'll see you at st- eight."

If his parting smile is warm enough to send a rush of heat down to her toes, she pretends not to notice.

She and John have previously flirted like this, but she doesn't want to screw things up. He's a good friend; one of very few, these days.

Now, if only she can keep Jane from screwing things up on her behalf.

* * *

Jane has every intention of screwing things up on Lisbon's behalf.

He's having some rather specific thoughts about it, in fact.

John Fox is FBI – that much is clear. Cho refuses to supply details, but the fact that the man is at ease within the CBI building and has a casual, flirtatious relationship with Lisbon would suggest that his offer – and Jane is now more than certain that it's a job offer – has been made many times in the past.

Not surprising, Jane thinks – Lisbon's a talented, courageous woman. She'd make an excellent federal agent… in a parallel universe. But here in _this_ universe, he decides, she belongs at the CBI. If he has to persuade her, then so be it. And he intends to.

But in the meantime, sabotage is the ideal appetiser.

Speaking of which…

* * *

It's nice to go out for dinner, Lisbon thinks. Really, genuinely, _out for dinner_, instead of undercover-at-dinner, or trawling-for-suspects-and-witnesses-at-dinner, or plotting-secretly-against-Red-John-at-dinner.

Across the table from her, John encounters a peculiarly long fry and lays it out across his plate. They stare at it curiously. "Giant potato?" Lisbon ventures.

"Fry-fusion, maybe," he offers. Then winces, "Or reproduction."

Lisbon takes a picture on her phone for posterity. "If I had Facebook, I'm sure this would be the sort of thing I'd want to post there."

They haven't talked about the job offer yet, and it's possible they won't even bother. The truth is, Lisbon already knows her decision and so does John. Pretending not to know is just a nice excuse to go out and eat steak.

They prove this point spectacularly, she thinks, by talking about everything but work for the next half an hour.

Later, she realises that she should have been suspicious from the outset. Jane meeting John Fox for the first time? Of course he would feel the need to meddle.

Still, when John's cell rings, she doesn't think anything of it. He answers it at the table; they're comfortable enough with each other, after all these years, to do that sort of thing.

"Yes, sir." He pauses. "What? Uh, how did y…?"

She freezes, fork halfway to her mouth. The green bean falls off, unnoticed. John's eyebrows draw together. "No, sir, of course not," he says, looking directly at her, which naturally worries her even more. "No, it's an entirely personal meeting. I wouldn't dream of –"

He appears to deflate a little, mouth opening and closing silently for a few seconds until he can interject. "That – that's true, sir, but it's not the nature of –" He is once again interrupted, and the way his shoulders sink suggests he's given up the fight. "I see. No, sir. Absolutely, sir." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yes, sir. See you then."

He hangs up, and heaves a long sigh. "What the hell…?"

She watches him, concerned. "Your boss?"

He nods, grabbing his beer and taking a long swig. "You'll never believe it," he says, slumping in his chair. "He's heard – and don't ask me how, because it was the _one_ thing he didn't mention in that freakin' monologue of his – that you and I are having dinner, and get this: he thinks it's a date on the taxpayers' dime!"

Her jaw drops. "What the -?" She shakes her head. "I don't even know which part to address first!"

"Tell me about it!" He finishes the beer. "He knows I've tried to recruit you in the past – he thinks I'm going to use that to claim this as an expense."

"But he knows you, right? Surely he trusts you?"

"That's what I thought!" He runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, how the hell did he even _know_? I came to California to give a training seminar –meeting up with you was a bonus, and I didn't tell him I was…" He stops suddenly, avoiding her eyes. "I mean…"

A sly smile tugs at her lips. "What? You didn't tell him you were going to try to recruit me this time? Why?"

He's grinning self-consciously now, eating a couple of fries before he answers. "Well, I – I mean, come on, Teresa, you've never wanted to leave the CBI in the past and I was pretty sure you wouldn't change your mind this time. But I figured it was as good an excuse as any to come and see you."

She fights the rush of colour to her cheeks, and says boldly, "Well, why didn't you just say that? Maybe I wouldn't have avoided your calls."

He appears momentarily stunned. "Are you actually saying that, if I'd asked, you would have agreed to a date –"

The interruption is from her phone, this time. It's Bertram's number, so she doesn't suspect anything when she answers, assuming it'll be a call about a case. "Hi, sir," she begins to say, but Bertram doesn't let her get that far.

"The FBI, Agent Lisbon?" he's saying, sounding an odd combination of wounded, exasperated… and afraid. "Really?"

"Uh… what?" She blurts out, and winces. "I mean, what, sir?"

"Need I remind you that at this stage of your career, uprooting and moving to the other side of the country would in fact be more damaging than –"

She decides to be brave, and interrupt him. "Sir, who called you?"

"That's hardly the point," he dismisses her. "The point is, you owe a loyalty to this agency, and to me. Not everybody would have reinstated you after that Jane fiasco last summer, but I took a chance, Lisbon."

"I know, sir," she says hastily. "And I think you should understand that –"

His tone changes. "What will it take?" he asks urgently. "A higher salary? Better parking?"

"I… park in front of the main entrance…" she mutters, but he's not listening.

Across the table, John is mouthing, 'what the hell?' and all she can do is shake her head, baffled.

"You want the Organised Crime offices for your team? That delightful view from the top floor? Say the word, Lisbon, and I'll kick those cowboys out by tomorrow morning."

"Sir!" she hisses finally. "Sir, I don't want anything – I'm not going to work for the FBI! Where exactly is this coming from?"

"You're not?" The sigh Bertram heaves rattles through the phone. "Oh, Agent Lisbon, you don't know what a relief it is to hear that. Do you have any idea how _inconvenient_ it would be to find someone else who could handle Jane? Especially given his… particular allegiance to you?" He makes a noise of aggravation. "Pure hell, Lisbon. Well, anyway, good talking with you." And just like that, he hangs up.

She gingerly places her phone back on the table. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

John frowns at her. "You think someone's messing with us?"

"Oh, I don't _think_," she says, in a low, flat tone. "Would you mind if I made a call?"

"Go right ahead." He lifts his hands to indicate that the floor is hers. And promptly leans forward, jamming fries into his mouth and preparing to eavesdrop shamelessly.

She stabs Jane's speed-dial number viciously. Contrary to his opinion, he isn't number one. Number one always has been, and always will be Kimball Cho, because the odds are that if she's in some kind of trouble, Jane is probably the root cause rather than the solution.

His phone rings… and rings… and goes unanswered. Three times.

She shakes her head. "Coward," she hisses.

"I'm going to take a stab at this," says John, tapping his finger against the corner of his mouth. "Let me guess… Jane?"

She mock applauds. "You want a front row seat to his murder?"

John grins at her. "No. I want to forget him and split the abnormally large fry with you."

There's a warm sensation in her chest, and it isn't heartburn. She does, indeed, partly forget about Jane while waiting for her half-fry, which she wolfs down. She even partly forgets about him until after they finish their steaks and order dessert.

Which… turns out to have been a mistake.

The waitress is beaming widely as she slides the large sundae between them. It's evidently one of those desserts intended for sharing.

It's also not what they ordered.

"Oh, excuse me, I'm sorry," she says politely, "but this isn't what –"

The gentle background piano music that she's hardly noticed all night suddenly shuts off.

The next thing she sees is a couple of penguin-suited minstrels sidling up to the table, readying their violins on their shoulders. By now people are starting to look over at them. "What is happening?" she whispers to John, hair prickling at the back of her neck.

John is ghostly white, and staring at the sundae. "They've definitely got the wrong people," he manages, nodding at the peak of white cream in the very centre of the dessert.

_Oh, shit._

Right there, in the very middle…

A sparkling engagement ring.

Her stomach drops. And not in a good way.

The violin players suddenly launch into a slow, harmonised rendition of 'My Heart Will Go On'. She can hear sighs and coos from around the restaurant.

The waitress, who has been standing by for unknown reasons, is looking at John as though he has two heads. She promptly kicks him in the ankle. "Go on," she hisses, and smiles again at Lisbon.

"No, uh…" he puts his hands up, one towards the waitress and one to the musicians. "Uh, you've made a mistake, this isn't…"

Two other waiters come jogging up, slowing at the last minute to try to appear smooth – part of the romantic picture. Between them, they're carrying a set of sparkly cut-out letters, mounted on a string. The younger one, looking nervous and rather sick, takes his end and crosses in front of the waitress.

Her breath catches in her throat.

The letters read: 'Will you marry me, Teresa?'

She tries to mute the absolute horror in her expression, but she's pretty sure John can see it as well. In fact, his face looks much the same as her own. "You definitely didn't –?" she begins, just as he is leaning across the table and saying, "I swear, I didn't organise –"

They both look around and see the way the other patrons are openly staring now. The waiters and waitress are watching, bewildered, as this non-proposal continues. "Okay," says John hesitantly, "please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm thinking the quickest way to get out of here is –"

She slips the ring quickly onto her finger and bellows, "I accept!"

In the midst of the applause and camera flashes, John flings a wad of cash at the astonished waitress, grabs her hand and they literally _run_ out of the front door.

Outside, they collapse onto a stone bench by the parking meter. A strange, strangled noise escapes Lisbon's throat before she clamps her lips shut. She doesn't know whether she wants to laugh or scream. Probably both.

John is breathing hard, and not looking at her when he says, "Was _that_ Jane, too?"

She slips the ring off, holding it in her other hand while she pops her knuckle in her mouth to remove the cream. "Definitely."

"Wow." He exhales, and cautiously turns to glance at her. "What a mood-killer."

They both snort with laughter at the same moment, quickly dissolving into hysterics. "Wh-What did that poor waitress _think_?" she giggles. "We both looked so terrified!"

"I know!" He's doubled over, wheezing. "She _kicked_ me! She thought I was about to chicken out!"

She holds up the ring. "Where did this even _come_ from?"

He grasps her wrist lightly, bringing it closer to his face to examine. "I dunno," he says, still smiling. "Looks fake, though. I think I've seen these for fifteen dollars in the 7-11 near my house."

She's sobering now, the unpleasant sensation of being utterly duped taking hold. John's expression is serious, too, but as his hand closes a little more around her wrist, she realises it's for a different reason. "Teresa," he begins –

And _both_ of their phones start to ring.

* * *

**Author's Note:** To anyone concerned that this might end up John/Lisbon, have no fear! Jane/Lisbon stuff is coming, I promise, as is a full explanation of what exactly happened to make John & Lisbon's dinner turn into the evening from hell. In the meantime, I'll bestow abnormally giant fries upon everyone who reviews*.

*Invisible abnormally giant fries, that is.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Ebulliometry: A Crash Course

**Disclaimer**: Property of Bruno Heller

**Author's Note:** Wow – after posting my first chapter I didn't think many people were into this story, but Chapter 2 seems to have had a bigger response (maybe it was the giant fry?) – thank you all so much for your amazing reviews! I will try to do individual replies; to those of you posting as guests, I will aim to answer any questions here (although some of them will be answered very soon anyway)! **Moko** – no, from Chapter 2 onwards it's only from either Jane or Lisbon's perspective. The first chapter was actually written about a year ago (in a different style) and this whole thing was intended to be a one-shot, but obviously that didn't pan out! Also, a blanket response to people who like John: thank you! I like him too; I wanted someone who would be a good friend to Lisbon as well as a real romantic threat for Jane to contend with. **Reine** – your IAGF is in an invisible FedEx box on its way to you now! (Also: yes. Yes, he is.)

Hope you enjoy Chapter 3!

* * *

She comes into work early the next day, prepared for war.

She makes a quick circuit around Jane's usual lurking spots, but doesn't find him. That's not unexpected. _Chicken,_ she thinks, scowling. Still, it's a comfort to know that he'll be a few steps behind by the time he arrives.

John's phone call last night had been from his boss's boss, Assistant Director Adler, who wanted to know why he'd received an angry call from California's Attorney General, harping on at him for poaching _two_ of his best assets in the CBI. Adler wasn't particularly in the mood for hearing _how_, exactly, this diplomatic tangle had arisen, but he had promised the AG that any poaching-in-progress would cease immediately. "So stop playing recruiter, Fox, and leave Teresa Lisbon and Patrick Jane alone."

"Jane?" she had repeated incredulously. "Why does… Oh, why am I asking?" she grumbled.

Her own phone call had been from Bertram, sounding world-weary. "Lisbon," he'd groaned, "why am I hearing from the _AG_, of all people about this ridiculous issue?"

"I'm sorry, sir –"

"Do you know what he said? Apparently, the FBI are intending to pilfer Mr Jane as well, now. The information they have is that, despite wishing to work with the CBI, he'd follow you if you went to the FBI." He sighed. "Much as Mr Jane is a colossal pain in the proverbial, I'd much rather retain his skills if it's all the same to you. So please, Agent Lisbon, grant me the ability to sleep tonight, and reassure me that the two of you aren't going anywhere."

"I promise, sir," she'd assured him.

To John, she'd ranted and raved for a while before swearing revenge.

He'd rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as she cooled down. "Well, objectively, I guess I can't exactly blame him for trying to get you to stay," he offered. "Subjectively, I'd like to kick his ass from here to Corfu, but I'm pretty sure you've earned that right more than I have."

Her smile had been tempered by the frustration and anger still bubbling in her blood. "I'm so sorry, John," she'd said quietly. "So much for our dinner, huh?"

To her surprise, he'd leaned in close, cupped her cheek and pressed a firm kiss to her lips. "Been wanting to do that for nine years," he murmured, his breath warm against her mouth. "Not exactly in these circumstances, but…"

She'd kissed him mid-sentence, heart fluttering in her throat as he wound his fingers through her hair and she gripped his shirt. On any other day, it could have been a perfect kiss – the slide of his mouth roughly against hers, tongue scraping her teeth – but it had been ruined by the usual suspect. Patrick Jane, Chief Ruiner on High.

John was a good man. He understood that the kiss wasn't a prelude to sex or a relationship. And he'd understood – and agreed to – her plan to get even.

* * *

"Oh my gosh," Jane hears Eleanor, the young trainee filing clerk saying excitedly as he stands in line for the CBI security desk. "I just think it's so romantic, don't you?"

Agnes, the much older lady who allegedly works in filing as well – but predominantly sits on her butt while making Eleanor do most of the work – harrumphs. "Betrayal, is what it is," she grouses. "I'm no spring chicken, but even I know what it means to leave the CBI for those show-offs at the FBI. She's a traitor, through and through!"

Jane smirks and congratulates himself on a spot of excellent pot-stirring. Brenda Shettrick has done good work, too, to have spread this rumour so far, so quickly.

"It's for love, though," Eleanor argues bravely. "I mean, if they're engaged, it's hardly a fling."

Jane frowns. He hadn't quite said 'engaged' to Brenda – merely hinted at the possibility of romantic involvement. It's rather irresponsible of her, he thinks, to have taken liberties with rumour-editing.

At the barrier, he catches Eddie and Frank eyeing him warily. On any other day, he might have smiled, but today he makes sure to scowl, snatching up his wallet and keys and grunting as he passes them. He can feel the stares on his back, and sees people giving him a wide berth in the hallway. _Perfect._

The elevator is another ideal place to add fuel to the fire. He slumps against the back wall, injecting a certain air of desperation into his expression and stance. He's deliberately gone unshaven today, and messed up his hair just enough to look like a man with little to care about. When there are enough people in the elevator, he even throws in a heavy, sad sigh for good measure.

Many of the women gaze at him sympathetically, and he offers them a watery smile.

He's even better at this than he remembered.

At the next floor, another two people squeeze in. They don't see him through the crowd. "I don't believe it," says Bill Hannon, from Narcotics. "Isn't she with that lunatic? The consultant?"

"Well, believe it or don't," says Stacy Lane, a member of the Rapid Response squad, "but she's wearing the ring."

His heart does a double-thump.

_Ring?_

No, he reassures himself. No, it'll be a mistake. A miscommunication… somehow.

He sees a few of the other occupants of the elevator glancing at him cautiously; one or two look as though they might try to alert the two agents to his presence, but nobody is bold enough to step up to the plate.

"Jesus," Bill mutters. "I thought she and that guy were attached at the hip."

"Pretty sure they were," Stacy replies. "You ask me, she did herself a favour ditching him. You're right – he's a lunatic. She's better off."

Bill whistles. "We'd better steer clear – bet you anything he'll go off the deep end."

The elevator mercifully disgorges its contents one floor below the SCU, leaving him briefly alone with his thoughts. _Okay_, he thinks. _Okay, things are basically going as planned. _He has no clue what this ring business is, but he can work around it. All he needs to do now is lure Wainwright in – bleeding heart that he is – and everything will be set.

By the time he reaches the bullpen, he's fully prepared for the next stage.

But he stops in his tracks when he walks in on Van Pelt squealing, embracing Lisbon… and the large banner hanging on the wall that says, 'Congratulations'.

Rigsby is grinning widely, a party hat on his head and trails of party-popper all over his shoulders. Even Cho is smiling, serving up pieces of cake on paper plates.

Jane hangs back slightly, glancing at his watch. It's ten-thirty – surely, no matter how quickly the rumour might have spread since he first 'leaked' it to Brenda just before nine, the team couldn't possibly have had time to do all this. So when…?

And then the breath leaves his lungs altogether.

Because as Lisbon draws back from Van Pelt, he sees it.

Glinting brightly from her left hand… an engagement ring.

_No,_ he thinks. _No_.

It's the only coherent thought he produces for the next full minute.

And then she sees him out of the corner of her eye, turns and beams at him. His heart seems to stutter and stop, and he recoils automatically. Her smile drops instantly; she looks sad and hurt.

_It was supposed to be a lie,_ he thinks desperately.

But it isn't a lie when he sees John Fox sweep easily past him, as though he isn't even there. It isn't a lie when he catches Lisbon around the waist and pulls her close for a happy, carefree kiss.

And it isn't a lie when Jane's stomach lurches dangerously, and he staggers backwards, turning from the sight and leaving them to themselves.

* * *

Van Pelt is staring after Jane, her large expressive eyes full of sadness. "Oh, boss, I feel so bad…"

Lisbon shakes her head. "No, this is all part of his act, Van Pelt. Don't let him fool you." But her brain offers her an image of his face before he ran – wounded and betrayed – and she can't help but wonder… "No," she says again, more to herself than the team. "This is Patrick Jane we're talking about, there's no way he wouldn't read the lie."

Then, before she forgets, she touches Van Pelt's elbow gently. "Thanks, by the way – I'm pretty sure being asked to throw a fake engagement party for your boss with twelve hours' notice is classed as 'above and beyond the call of duty'."

Van Pelt smiles self-consciously, as gracious as her given name, but Lisbon catches her eyes straying to the space where Jane stood more than once.

John lifts his arm from her waist to accept the plate of cake Cho is offering. "Why are we trying to fool him if he'll know we're lying, exactly?"

Lisbon watches with amusement as he peels the icing off and eats it first. "Because he won't be able to _admit_ he knows it's a lie without also admitting to having set us up." She shrugs. "Of course, he's usually pretty shameless about this sort of thing, so…"

John splits the cake in half and offers it to her. "We didn't get dessert last night," he says, by way of explanation.

She raises an eyebrow. "You want me to accept this lump of sponge without frosting? Thanks, _honey_."

"You're welcome, my sweetest darlingest pooch."

She smacks him in the belly and catches Cho eyeing them shrewdly. "I don't know," he says flatly. "I can see kinda why he'd buy it."

Half an hour passes, and Jane doesn't return. Of course, it isn't unusual for him to spend hours in that attic of his, but the image of his face keeps repeating on her, until eventually she cracks. She's been unable to get any work done, anyway, because people keep stopping by to congratulate her and try to extract more information about whether or not she's actually taking a job as a Fed or just marrying one.

A disturbing number of them keep asking about Jane. _Does he know yet? What did he say? Is he happy for you? Will he stay at the CBI? Does he seem a little… off?_

This last question is the one that alarms her the most. If Jane has been lurking in the attic since finding out about the 'engagement', then why are people talking as though he has been roaming through the building like Heathcliff on the moors?

Something about this is most definitely not right, she thinks.

Eventually, she decides to just head up there and have the inevitable discussion. She's sure it will involve lengthy, unwanted analysis of her thought processes and choices and – probably – her entire life until now, but at this point, she just wants everybody to get back on track.

She's on her way out of her office when John jogs up to her. He's been playing scrabble with Cho for a little while, killing time until his flight this afternoon. "Everything OK?" he asks. "Are we going to stir the rumour mill a little more? Kimball just suggested we could freak everybody out by going to city hall."

She snorts. That is pretty good, she has to admit. "No, uh – actually I was going to confess all. I mean, you're going home later, it has to end sometime, right?"

His gaze is warm. "You feel bad, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do." She shrugs. "What can I s –?"

"Lisbon! John!"

She looks up in utter astonishment to see Jane bounding towards them, a large smile on his face. "I am so, so sorry," he says, completely sincere, when he reaches them. "I was a little taken aback earlier. I can't believe I was so rude – I didn't even offer you my congratulations."

And just when she thinks she can't get any more surprised, he reaches around and pulls them _both_ into a hug. "Uh," she squeaks against his vest, "Jane?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Lisbon." He releases her. "Listen – let's all go out for lunch. My treat, what do you say?"

What she wants to say is, _You little bastard._

What she actually says is, "That's so generous, Jane," and slips her hand into John's. "We'd love to."

Because she knows now what she ought to have realised from the beginning – he is _still_ playing them. This is all part of his game. She'd thought it finished last night and that _her_ game had begun today, but no – as always with Jane, he's been keeping the real trick up his sleeve.

John looks at her and opens his mouth, but she squeezes his hand; he smiles quickly and says, "Of course we would."

* * *

"More water, Lisbon?"

"Thank you, Jane."

They smile maliciously at each other across the table. The rest of the team glance nervously at each other and play with their food.

John is fully on board with continuing the deception; he's having the time of his life putting his arm around her shoulders, playing with her hair and occasionally pressing kisses to her cheek. This, it is apparent to everyone but Lisbon, is only making things worse. With each caress, Jane's smile becomes more brittle; the pulsating vessel at his temple becomes more pronounced and the grip on his water glass grows tighter.

"So," he says, falsely bright, "I love hearing romantic stories – why don't you tell us what happened last night, Lisbon?"

"Well," she says, a trace of venom in her grin, "it was _really_ bizarre, Jane. Wasn't it, honey?"

"Oh, certainly, dearest," John agrees, wrapping a curl around his thumb.

"You see, Jane, there was some kind of _terrible mix-up_," she continues, not even blinking now. Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt are attempting to shrink in their seats without disappearing under the table. "_Someone_ must have led the staff to believe that John was going to propose. Now, I'm sure I don't know who would do something like that – or why – but it was the best surprise possible."

"A dream!" John interjects, kissing her hair.

"You see, John and I got talking last night, and we both realised – well, neither of us are getting any younger, are we? We've been great friends for years, and we certainly find each other attractive. So we just figured – what the hell? Let's go for it!"

"Incredible!" Jane says, raising a glass. "Well, bravo, Lisbon – and John, of course. A toast, everybody, to the happy couple!"

The repetition of, "To the happy couple!" from around the table is rather subdued.

Lisbon and Jane each take a sip, their eyes never leaving each other.

_You'll break first,_ she promises.

_Never, my dear_, he swears.

It's only when they get back to the CBI building, though, that she begins to spot the other aspects of his behaviour. With herself and the team, he's been delivering full-wattage smiles and cheer. In view of others, though, he's doing… something else.

He starts _snarling_ at people.

At first she thinks she's imagining it, but she sees it up close when they're all trekking through the security scanners – what a motley crew they must look – and Eddie, who's been watching Jane carefully since he came through the front door, dares to ask, "Mr Jane, is everything -?"

And then she hears it. That strange, low noise in his throat. If it were that alone, she might suspect he had a cough or something. But when he turns, she sees the ugly twist to his mouth and the hard edge to his glare, and it's all she can do to hold in a gasp.

Why on earth would he behave like that? It's the obvious question, but she sees no obvious answer. Eddie is a kind, careful man who has never had any trouble with Jane.

It's only after she sees him doing it to other people that she starts to realise – this is part of the game, too. The final straw is when he bumps into Colin, the mailroom guy, quite deliberately and then has the audacity to growl, "Watch where you're going."

"Jane," she snaps. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Yeah, man," Cho steps in unexpectedly. "You're acting crazy."

"Crazy," Jane repeats, almost to himself. He nods, chuckling. "Yes, I suppose it would seem that way, wouldn't it?"

When he doesn't elaborate further, Lisbon steps forward, intending to steer him into her office for a talk. But he veers backwards as her hand approaches his elbow, almost stumbling into Brenda, who is passing behind him. Brenda has to dart to one side with a surprised shriek. By now there are people gathering around. "Jane," Lisbon tries again. "What's going on?"

"What's going on?" he repeats, much louder than necessary. "I can't stand this, Lisbon! I… I won't stand for it!" He jabs his finger in John's direction. "He thinks he can just show up and take you away? You think _you_ can get away from me? I'll show you. I'll show _all_ of you!"

And he wheels unsteadily, pushing through the crowd and disappearing up the stairs.

"What… the hell?" she mutters, staring at John and the others. Their disbelief matches hers.

If this is part of the game, she has no idea what's coming next.

"Agent Lisbon? Would you care to explain what's going on?"

Her shoulders slump as she turns to face Wainwright. "At this point, sir, I'm not even sure I _can_."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Aahahahaha. The plot thickens! Or… remains much the same consistency as before, whatever. Next chapter: everything blows up. In the meantime, I would love to hear your thoughts – please review!


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Ebulliometry: A Crash Course

**Disclaimer**: Property of Bruno Heller

**Author's Note:** You guys are amazing – I can't thank you enough for the lovely, beautiful reviews. I am massively behind on individual replies, but I promise I will get around to it. **Lauren'culpan** – I will PM you, but just quickly wanted to say – write it! Please, please write it, because it will be different anyway and I would _definitely_ read it! Also, **Lothlorien Aeterna** – your review made me laugh so much; it was perfect and I love you for it!

Hope you guys all enjoy this (somewhat longer) chapter in which… things happen ;-)

* * *

Upstairs, Jane pours some bottled water into a small, one-person kettle and flicks the switch. He settles into his chair, inhales deeply, and smiles with great satisfaction.

This has worked out even better than planned, he realises. Of course, it hasn't been easy to adapt to Lisbon's interference, but he thinks he's managed with considerable aplomb.

He grimaces when he remembers how she fooled him this morning. It was only when he reached his attic that things had fallen into place – Van Pelt's wide smile but _tearless_ face, for example. Van Pelt cries when she sees a promotional poster for Finding Nemo. She would produce absolute floods if she found out her boss was getting married.

Rigsby – grinning like an idiot, for sure, but _not pawing the cake_? That ought to have tipped him off straight away.

And Cho. Cho, who knows Lisbon and John Fox very well and doesn't believe in romance unless it's in paperback form. No way would Cho be able to resist interrogating them both to find out if they were just making a giant, impulsive mistake.

Jane sighs, and reaches for the kettle as it automatically shuts off. It should have been plain to see from the beginning, but he'd let himself get distracted by… Well, it's all in the past now, he thinks. He's recovered spectacularly. Going to lunch has provided him with the perfect brain food for acting like a complete lunatic – and doing so in front of Brenda will only confirm what he suggested to her subconsciously this morning.

In the back of his mind, a small, unpleasant thought continues to demand his attention.

He remembers seeing John Fox kiss Lisbon this morning, remembers his hands all over her in the café at lunch. Remembers what she had said: 'we aren't getting any younger'… 'we're certainly attracted to each other'. Both of those things, he has no doubt, are true. And as certain as he remains that they are _not_ engaged, there's still the nagging possibility that something may have begun between them.

Something he will not be able to destroy.

* * *

Lisbon is pacing and straightening in her office.

It's the first time John has ever seen her do anything like this. At first he thinks she's tidying, and tries to lend a hand. He learns his lesson when she delivers a stinging slap to his hand and removes the magazine from his grasp.

"Teresa, it's okay," he says soothingly. "This Wainwright guy seems pretty straightforward; you told him the truth and he seemed calm, right? Hey," he adds, with a smile, "wanna make out, wife-to-be?"

She gives up the straightening and slumps onto the couch next to him. Stress, worry and frustration are working together to gnaw a hole in the middle of her chest. She can't decide whether she's more worried about what Wainwright will do, or about Jane in general.

The truth is, no matter how angry she might be feeling with Jane, there's something going on with him, and her fear is that it will damage what has previously been a good working relationship. She and Jane have mocked and made fun of each other in the past – and yes, he's played more than a few tricks on her – but there has never been this _weird_ undertone to it.

John slips an arm around her shoulders. "It'll be okay," he promises softly.

She holds up her left hand and slips the ring off. "It was nice while it lasted," she murmurs. That's not a lie – it's been strangely comforting to feel the metal around her finger and associate it with someone who cares about her. And it's been nice to have John on her side, too. He's a good friend. She's had to remind herself with a pang that he's not really her fiancé.

He wraps his free hand around hers, thumb stroking the bare finger. "Yeah," he says quietly, "it was." He leans in and kisses her quickly. "Hey, you ever need someone to be your fake fiancé again, just let me know."

She laughs softly. "You've been the most excellent pretend husband-to-be."

He winks. "Recommend me to your friends." Then, a little more seriously, "We could make a pact – if we both get to forty and we're still single, we get married in Vegas."

"I'm forty next year!" she admonishes him, elbowing him in the gut.

He feigns surprise. "So am I – what a coincidence. See you next year, wife-to-be." He's just getting to his feet as Wainwright knocks at her office door, and steps inside without waiting for a response.

Something twists inside her chest when she sees that he's brought Jane with him.

John clears his throat. "Uh, I'll take off, then. I'll call you later," he tells her, and then he's gone, leaving her feeling like she's about to be shouted at by the school principal for misbehaving.

She pulls herself to her feet. "Uh, sir," she begins, "I just want to say that –"

But for what feels like the hundredth time in twenty-four hours, she is cut off as Bertram storms through her office door, purple in the face and practically incoherent. "_What_," he is saying, "the hell are you playing at, Agent Lisbon?"

"Sir –"

"Do you know how many people have been calling me today, saying that you're _engaged_ to that federal agent? And worse – that Mr Jane appears to be having some kind of meltdown?" Here, he casts a wary eye over the man himself, and takes a step away. "There are concerns that you're about to climb the clocktower with a rifle, Mr Jane – please reassure me."

"Excuse me, sir," Wainwright steps in urgently, looking alarmed. "I think it's best not to provoke Mr Jane right now – I do believe he's in an extremely vulnerable state, and we need to handle the situation with the utmost –"

"Uh," says Jane, sheepishly, "I think I should explain something."

"No, you know what?" says Bertram. "Forget it, Jane. This has gone far enough."

Her breath catches in her throat and her heart pounds. _This is it, _she thinks, dread pulling her stomach all the way down to her feet. _He's going to fire me. _

"If this is what it takes to prevent the FBI from stealing my top agent and her consultant, then so be it," he continues, and pulls two thin folders from underneath his arm. "Needless to say, I'm disappointed that it's come to this – I expected more loyalty from _both_ of you –" she notes he's only looking at her as he speaks, "– but nevertheless, here we are."

She takes her folder with a trembling hand. She feels suddenly nauseous, but she forces herself to continue. _It's fine,_ she reasons. _I'll just shove it down Jane's throat when I'm done._

Except it doesn't read 'Notice of Termination' as she'd anticipated.

She blinks at it, perplexed.

'Revised Contract of Employment' it says in bold, across the top. Slowly, carefully, she allows herself to breathe again while she skims the details.

_Holy crap._

He's really done it. 'A higher salary,' he'd offered, and there it is. 'Better parking,' he'd said, and there it is. Not to mention an extra few days paid leave.

And…

_Oh._

The blood rushes to her face, and she tries to stifle the odd choking noise in her throat.

Jane just made a similar noise.

They look up at exactly the same moment, meeting each other's eyes with surprise. It's the first honest look they've exchanged since he first met John Fox yesterday.

"Uh, sir," she says carefully. "This last, uh, clause…"

"Oh, yes." Bertram wrinkles his nose. "Look, just keep it out of the office, okay?"

"No, that's not what I –"

"Lisbon," Jane says sharply. "Perhaps we should talk about this."

"But Jane –"

"Excellent idea," Wainwright is saying. "You two need to have an open discussion – air all your grievances. Don't leave any issues unresolved. You can't achieve a stable, supportive working environment with all this tension between the two of you."

"You're absolutely right," Jane is nodding. "In fact, Lisbon and I will stay right here and hash it out until we're, uh, ready to work as a cohesive team again."

Wainwright looks ecstatic, and Lisbon forces herself to smile as he and Bertram let themselves out. But the smile drops away when Jane locks the door and closes the blinds.

"Now," he says, turning to face her. "Let's _talk_."

* * *

There's something rather satisfying, Jane reflects, about trapping Teresa Lisbon in her own office and stalking her like a predator.

Especially when she's radiant with anger like this: eyes flashing, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling gently with the slow breaths she's currently using to try and calm herself down.

"You made those phone calls, didn't you?" Her voice is laced with fury. "Last night – to John's –"

"To John's bosses and Bertram," he agrees. "Yes, I did."

She laughs incredulously. "You can just admit it – just like that." She throws her hands up, as if she's talking to herself. "Of course you can. Do you have _any_ idea the kind of trouble you've caused?"

He raises an eyebrow. " 'Trouble' is an interesting name for your new contract, Lisbon."

"You know what I mean, Jane. Bertram probably thinks I engineered this whole thing to get a better deal. And John! Do you know what he'll face when he gets back to Washington?"

Jane feels his teeth clenching automatically. _John, John, John._ He's heard quite enough about John. "No," he says stiffly, "and I don't care. I'm sure he can take care of himself, Lisbon. And as for Bertram – well, he knows the extent of my involvement; he's far more likely to blame me."

"Explain yourself," she demands hotly. "Explain how we went from complete normality yesterday to – _this_."

He tosses his contract to one side abruptly and approaches her. She folds her arms and stands her ground, glaring at him, but he sees her pulse flicker in her throat. He knows she's affected by his proximity, and he's glad (more than glad, in fact – about as close to thrilled as he can get without showing it on his face). "Let me put this simply," he offers, ignoring the fact that his own heart rate is increasing. "I suspected Agent Fox would try to tempt you away. I decided to take action to prevent it." He shrugs. "Simple."

He watches her reaction – the fire, accelerant added, that now rages in her eyes; the muscles winding and tightening in her face and arms; the way she discreetly wets her lips before she opens her mouth for what's certain to be a scathing retort.

It's taking all his self-control not to kiss her right now.

"I see," she bites out. "Why, exactly, did you feel it was _remotely your business_? Why do you think I'm incapable of coming to my own decisions without your involvement? And why do you have such a hard time respecting those decisions?"

That's not exactly what he's expecting to hear. "I don't have a hard time respecting you," he protests, "_or_ your decisions. Why else do you think I've gone to all this trouble?"

Her nose wrinkles as she tries to figure _that_ one out. "Excuse me?"

He doesn't even hesitate. "It shouldn't surprise you so much, Lisbon – you know my personality. You know I have very few limits when it comes to doing and getting what I want. The only exception I've made for you is to abandon my limits altogether."

He can't stop looking into her eyes. He's doing a moment-by-moment live reading of her, because every second counts, and he needs to know exactly how she interprets this.

She swallows roughly, and the anger dims just long enough to give him a glimpse of the turmoil beneath. Then it's back in full force, and _she_ is the one stepping forward this time. He measures the distance between them by her warmth and by the strength of his own urge to reach out and touch her. "Don't do that," she says, through gritted teeth. "Don't try to make me back off by making me uncomfortable. This has been nothing but a game to you – all those shenanigans last night, calling the _A.G._, for crying out loud, not to mention the proposal!" Her eyes narrow. "You enjoyed it, didn't you? It's exactly the kind of crap you love – making other people feel on edge for your own personal amusement."

He can feel irritation bubbling in his blood. "You think _anything_ about this has been amusing for me?" She's so close now – if he takes one more step, they'll be touching, and as intoxicating as that thought might be, he can't risk it. Too soon, and she'll interpret it as part of his 'game'. "You think I've enjoyed watching the two of you practically _mount_ each other in the office –"

She gasps, outraged. "How _dare_ you? That is not –" She shakes her head. "You know what? Screw you. You set up that whole fake proposal in the first place – why, I don't even know – and now you're just sore because we didn't play along. In fact, _we_ got _you_."

He scoffs. "Please. I knew right away you were lying. Teresa Lisbon, giving in to impulse and getting engaged to a guy she hardly knows? 'Out of character' doesn't even _begin_ to cover it…"

He knows it's a low blow. But in his mind's eye, all he can see is John Fox pulling her close and kissing her – and how _comfortable_ they looked. He's been resisting the urge to analyse it, but the more he ponders it, the more he's growing to realise that they have kissed before. For real. And that thought is provoking the heat in his blood even more than the thought of her running off to marry him.

She's watching him now, suddenly impassive. It's unnerving. "Why," she asks slowly, "_did_ you set up that scene at the restaurant, Jane? I mean, I understand calling Bertram – sort of – but what was the point of making me think he was going to propose marriage?"

He can only offer partial honesty. "To kill the romantic mood," he says, without preamble. "Nothing scares two people away from each other more than an unwanted display of commitment. It would certainly make you uncomfortable, and regardless of Agent Fox's feelings for you, something like that was bound to make him back off, if only to avoid giving you the wrong idea."

She's nodding. She seems to be in a reasonable mood all of a sudden, and Jane doesn't like it. "Really?" she murmurs. "Makes sense, I suppose. It's just – the only thing is, Jane – I really don't see how that benefits you. I mean, you're right – I _wouldn't_ get engaged a guy I hardly knew. I wouldn't even leave my job and move to the other side of the country for him. So, regardless of whatever John and I felt for each other, you _had_ to know that it wouldn't affect my decision." She's standing tall, tapping her foot impatiently. "So why get involved at all? Especially when my love life has _nothing_ to do with you whatsoever."

He stares at her. She's been choosing her words carefully, and that last sentence is intended to lead him to a conversational crossroads. Does she… Could she possibly _know_? Or does she still assume he's playing her?

"Doesn't it, Lisbon?"

They're silent, neither knowing how to move forward from here. Jane is beginning to wonder whether, in trying to keep her by his side, he's managed to push her further away than ever – and the fear that accompanies that thought is clogging his throat and lungs. He's about to reach for her and beg her forgiveness, when her phone beeps once.

She might have been inclined to ignore it, he can tell, but the sound broke her concentration and she's already reaching automatically into her pocket. He watches her expression as she reads the text. There's some flicker there – a mixture of amusement, apprehension and unmistakeable fondness.

All he hears is the roar of blood in his ears as he pulls the phone from her grasp and reads the message: 'Yo, wife-to-be, I've given it some thought, and I want this pact in writing, preferably SWAK. Talk later x'

"Jane!" she exclaims, reaching for it. If he were the Hulk, he thinks he'd crush it in his fist. Instead, he turns and throws it against the brick wall. It shatters, and he knows the smile of satisfaction on his face must look ugly to her right now.

"Jane!" she says again, voice heavy with barely controlled anger. Her fists open and close briefly, and then she hits him – hard – in the shoulder.

He catches her wrist as she withdraws it. "Pact, Lisbon?" He doesn't yield to her attempts to yank her hand out of his grasp. "SWAK?"

She's _furious_ now. "_None_ of your goddamn business, Jane – what is your _problem_?" She stares at him for a moment. "You did this earlier. All that weird psycho behaviour. I thought it was part of the act, but how does that even make sense?"

He pulls her toward him a little, just enough to make him drunk with her scent and her pulse and the sight of her lips (_so close_ now – within his reach). "It didn't take much," he murmurs, directing his reply to her hairline. "People already think I'm bananas. All I needed was to make them see how much worse I'd be without you – and look what happened. Bertram suddenly found himself inundated with requests to get you to stay." His laugh is a puff of air against her cheek. "It's part of my 'Lisbon Protection System' – anyone so much as _thinks_ about suspending or firing you, and you'll have the entire CBI lining up to protest. An entire agency of allies, Lisbon, doesn't that sound good?"

Her voice is breathy with astonishment. "You arrogant, manipulative son of a –"

He slides his other arm around her, splaying his fingers in the centre of her back and pulling her closer. "What are you -?" she mutters, shoving at his chest. "Jane!"

"What," he murmurs, lips brushing her ear, "is the pact?"

She stills instantly, and white-hot jealousy flashes behind his eyes. "Lisbon?" he says, aware of the danger in his voice.

When she looks up at him, it's with a sly grin. "What?" she retorts. "The great Patrick Jane can't figure it out?" She rolls her eyes. "John wants to get hitched in Vegas if we're both still single by next year."

He's torn between fresh dislike for a man he's known for less than twenty-four hours, and slight relief. After all, Lisbon's relationship status is something he can, at least, change – assuming she doesn't murder him first.

"I see." He keeps his grip on her wrist and pulls her a little closer with the hand at her back. "And SWAK?"

She raises an eyebrow. "I thought you were supposed to be the font of all knowledge? Haven't you ever heard of 'sealed with a kiss'?"

He sucks in a breath. _That bastard._ "Let me make something clear, Lisbon." He closes the gap at last – nerve-endings breathing a sigh of relief to feel her warmth pressing against his chest through the fabric of his suit. She's angling her head and shoulders back a little, looking up at him with an enticing mix of anticipation, arousal and frustration. That little pulse in her throat is drumming against her skin, and he mentally marks the spot to return to later. "John Fox," he continues, leaning in to press his lips softly against her cheek, "will never," her eyebrow, "_ever_," the tip of her nose, "be allowed to kiss you again."

He angles his head and leans in… only to feel cool skin against his mouth.

The anger in her eyes is cold. She keeps her hand against his lips as she says, "I'm done with this, Jane. You've had your fun – you got the outcome you wanted. But I am so sick of you treating me like some… _toy_, getting all upset because somebody else played with me." She lets her hand drop. "I never thought you'd stoop so low as to nearly… Well, look, it doesn't matter now. Let's just move on, okay?"

For a moment, it's all he can do just to breathe.

This whole time, she thinks he's been playing her.

There's a chill seeping into his clammy skin, and suddenly he finds his heart pounding. He can feel her slipping away, and he knows that if he doesn't take action now, everything they have between them is going to come crashing down, and he won't ever be able to rebuild it.

The truth is, he's angry with her, too. She ought to know him better. She's always been good at reading him when no-one else can; she can usually tell when he's lying. If she were paying attention, she would see everything – all the things he isn't saying; things he's never _dared_ say – particularly since he isn't even trying to hide his feelings now.

However, as he watches her carefully trying to school her features into impassivity, he realises that she isn't even looking.

She doesn't want to know.

It hurts for a moment, until sense kicks in and tells him that it's probably out of self-preservation. She doesn't want to know because she assumes it'll confirm what she's thought all along.

_Well. _That just settles it, then. He doesn't know it – Lisbon only tells him later – but he's got that crazy look in his eye again. "'Toy'?" he repeats, in a tight voice. "'Play'? You're using those words, Lisbon, not me. The only one who sees this as a game is you."

She sucks in a breath, and he can see her gearing up to retort, indignant now.

_No._

He strengthens his grip on her wrist, taking careful note of her gradually increasing heart rate. The hand he'd removed from her back encircles her waist again, lower this time, pulling her back to him. "_Nothing_ about this has been a game to me," he continues. "Everything I've done has been with one serious purpose – to make you understand that I'm in love with you, and I can't let you go."

She's looking directly into his eyes now, and he knows the exact moment she realises he's telling the truth – the slackened muscles around her mouth; the way her lips part and her pupils dilate just a _touch_ more. "Jane," she says unsteadily – and suddenly he can't wait anymore.

Her mouth is already open when he leans down, letting go of her wrist to slide his hand into her hair and bring her lips to meet his. He takes advantage, turning a kiss that was intended to be soft and sweet into something else altogether – a hot, wet, achy slide of his tongue against hers, electricity crackling across every synapse in his body as he pulls her flush against him in a desperate attempt to bury himself in her warmth. His fingernails scrape her scalp and she gasps, letting him plunder her mouth thoroughly.

He feels her hands fist in his shirt, then flatten, then curl again. She's undecided, he can feel that; she isn't fully kissing him back yet.

_Okay_, he thinks, _challenge accepted._

He takes hold of her shoulders and steers her to the nearest wall next to her desk. By necessity, he has to stop kissing her to achieve this, and naturally she starts to talk. "Jane," she says, lips beautifully pink and swollen, "shouldn't we - ?"

He crowds her.

He loves crowding her. Her personal space is the most enticing space he can imagine, and doing this for the express purpose of kissing her again is a delicious thought, because of course it's what he's wanted to do on every previous occasion.

He presses the length of his body against hers, trapping her against the wall. His hands rest against the cold brick, and she automatically braces hers on his biceps (which, he's sure, are nothing compared to John Fox's… but then again, she isn't thinking about John Fox right now, is she?)

"Lisbon," he says, "do you trust me?"

Her eyelids flutter shut for a moment, and she inhales. "Of course I do, Jane," she replies, as though this should be obvious.

For him, though, they are five words he will hear reverberating around his head for days to come. "Good," he says, grinning, and bends down to kiss her again.

It's intense, and brutal, and open-mouthed – tongues tangling and grunts and gasps and wet sounds – his teeth catching her lip and swallowing her moan, and it's perfect because _she's kissing him back_. Eventually he can't keep his hands off her, and slips one inside her shirt while the other one falls to her thigh. He's going crazy; all he wants is to feel her legs wrapped around his and to lose himself here and now…

But the hand sliding up next to her breast is cold, of course, because it's been pressing against a brick wall for the last few minutes – she jumps in his arms, and he hisses with shock as he realises he's already well on the way to 'losing himself'.

They arrive at the same conclusion at the same time. He presses his mouth to hers once more, pushing down his sense of urgency and stepping back at last. They're both breathing hard; Lisbon's hair is mussed and her cheeks are a lovely colour.

She reaches up to tuck stray strands of hair behind her ears, and he can't help it – he reaches out to tangle his fingers with hers. "Do you regret it?" he asks, and it's a genuine question, because right now she looks pleased and slightly frustrated and just-kissed – but who knows how soon she'll be withdrawing back into her worries and fears?

"No." She shakes her head. "But I think… we need to talk about that clause. In the contract."

_Oh, yes._

He smiles widely without meaning to, and she frowns at him. "Jane, did you _ask_ Bertram to include that?"

"Of course not!" he protests. "Bertram came to his own conclusions based on everything that's been happening, and I for one think it's for the best."

"For the best?" Her eyebrows tell him exactly what she thinks of that. "In what way is the entire bureau gossiping about us and the fact that we somehow blackmailed Bertram into exempting us from the rule that applies to everyone else 'for the best'? Not to mention…" she drops her gaze abruptly. "Well... it's not exactly…"

He curls his fingers tighter around hers. "True?"

The hurt he feels is only momentary. He can't blame her for being wary with her heart, not when he's known all along that she's a naturally guarded person. Lisbon would never assume that a kiss was anything more than a kiss, not even if it came with a declaration of love attached.

Not even if it's from him.

He tries to think of some smooth way of asking her to enter into a relationship with him, but his mind is supplying him with only the most pathetic, juvenile things he can think of. He can't ask Lisbon, 'will you go out with me?' like a twelve-year old. Is that even what twelve-year olds say these days?

What he comes out with is probably even worse. "It _could_ be true," he offers. "I mean, I would like it to be true."

She bites her lip. "I don't know, Jane," she says hesitantly, and he feels his stomach twist. He forces away the sudden desperate urge to take hold of her and kiss her again, to do everything in his power to convince her. She's still talking, after all. "What if this screws everything up? I mean, we work together every day – it's bound to take its toll."

He tries to project an air of calm, but he knows his hands are unsteady as he fumbles to put them in his pockets. "You're right, Lisbon – who knows what might happen? We might end up arguing or otherwise disagreeing… one of us might storm off to some secret hiding place somewhere… we could have an awkward moment or even make a scene on the job… Oh wait!" He makes a show of smacking his forehead. "We do all those things anyway. Besides… history suggests we're both pretty good at compartmentalising."

There's a small smile growing on her face. He can't measure her pulse at this distance, obviously, but the way she swallows and her hand wanders up to play at her throat suggests she's thinking about it – _really_ thinking about it. "Well," she says eventually, "I guess we could take Bertram's suggestion and keep it out of the office –"

He tries not to _lunge_, exactly, but that's probably what it looks like. She squeaks as he grins against her lips and slaps at his shoulder. "Jane," she mumbles, but he's already lost.

* * *

**Author's Note:** To those of you who might be thinking that this argument doesn't _quite_ feel finished yet - you're right! **Next chapter:** Jane has to answer for his behaviour (and the destruction of Lisbon's phone), and John shows up again. In the meantime, I'm dying to hear what you thought – please review!


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: **Ebulliometry: A Crash Course

**Disclaimer**: Property of Bruno Heller

**Author's Note:** I've been besieged by plot bunnies so have been delayed posting this. Thank you so much to everybody who has been reviewing/favouriting – I can't properly describe the warm fuzzy feelings I get when I see review notifications in my inbox, but it is fantastic and it keeps me going through the day. Hope you enjoy this latest chapter!

* * *

Things are just starting to get heated again when they're both startled apart by the sharp ring of Lisbon's desk phone.

She takes a moment to untangle herself, but it doesn't escape her notice that Jane barely steps back to let her move away; she's forced to brush heavily against him – his hands lingering deliberately on her hips – as she heads for her desk, and she throws a half-hearted scowl over her shoulder. "Probably Wainwright, checking to make sure we haven't killed each other."

For a moment, she wonders if she's opened the floodgates now – if he's going to be insufferably hovering in her personal space _everywhere_ they go.

_Probably_.

She can't quite manage to think badly of herself for the little thrill of excitement she feels at the prospect.

She picks up the phone on autopilot, saying, "Lisbon," and then foolishly looking back at Jane again.

He's watching her unashamedly, his eyes sweeping her figure, only warmth and happiness on his face. She realises what it is for the first time to have his full, undivided attention – not because of a case, or because some personal issue of hers has reared its ugly head and he wants to know all about it, but because he just wants to stare at her and now he _can_.

It's such a distracting thought that at first, she doesn't hear the voice on the other end of the phone. Then, with a jolt, she realises who's speaking. "Teresa?" John repeats, louder. "Are you there?"

"Uh, yeah," she replies, startled. "I'm right here. Sorry."

"What happened?" he wants to know. "I just tried calling your cell but it's going straight to voicemail."

"Oh, uh…" she winces and runs a hand through her hair, glancing at the fragments of her phone on the floor. "I dropped it. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, sure." She can hear the smile in his voice. "Did you get my text? Or is that why you dropped your phone – a tremble of passion?" He's obviously joking, but there's that old flirtatious undercurrent there… and a bit of curiosity.

She's hyper-aware of Jane's presence, and she's trying not alert either man that the other is _around_ in any sense, but she can't help smiling at John's question. "Oh, hush," is all she says.

"You sure you're alright, Teresa?"

"I'm fine," she scolds softly. Then, realising that it's only going to reinforce his suspicions if she keeps speaking in monosyllables, "Don't you have a flight to catch, anyway?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jane stiffen slightly.

"I've got plenty of time," John is saying. "You get things settled with Jane?"

She glances over at the man in question without meaning to, which naturally seems to pique his interest even more. "Yeah, we talked it out," she says, quirking an eyebrow deliberately at Jane. "A lot."

There's a muscle twitching in Jane's jaw. She ignores it.

(That turns out to be a bad decision, she finds out later.)

"Oh yeah?" John sounds as though he's trying to be casual and not quite making it. "That's cool. Uh, I was thinking about swinging by the CBI building in about twenty minutes, now I'm all packed… maybe hammer things out with that pact? Specifically, the 'SWAK' element?"

She laughs by choice, but her blush is entirely involuntary. Thinking of 'SWAK' now only summons the memory of Jane's kiss and every sensation that went with it. "John," she begins gently, wondering how to phrase this, especially in front of Jane, "I don't know –"

It doesn't really matter how she was planning to say it, in the end, because Jane's hand curls around hers where it rests on the receiver, and he pulls the phone away from her and towards him. "Sorry, John," he says coldly, "but Teresa's still quite busy with me right now. We need to put all our issues on the table and get to the naked truth – you know, really just _relentlessly_ pound it out. We may even need to sleep on it. She'll call you back when she isn't pinned down, but that certainly doesn't look like it'll happen any time soon, so why don't you get on that flight of yours and we'll be in touch."

And he hangs up without another word, keeping her hand trapped firmly under his.

She's gaping at him – partly with anger and outrage, but also partly because those unmistakeably sexual innuendoes have left her overwhelmingly aroused, and right now she's frustrated at herself for that. "Jane!" she explodes at last. "How _dare_ you? You – you asshole! He's my friend, you had no right to do that. Do you know what he'll be _thinking_?"

"Obviously," he replies, his voice sounding rough as he leans close to her, "the same things as you."

She pulls away from his attempted kiss. "This isn't a joke, Jane. You can't just go around trying to control every aspect of my life. Just because you don't like John –"

He waves a hand dismissively. "It's not a case of disliking him, Lisbon, I just want him to be aware that things have changed between us. Is that so wrong?"

"You should have let _me_ tell him," she fires back. "But no – once again, you have to let everybody know that you've got the upper hand. It would have been less traumatic if he'd actually walked in on us doing it on the desk!"

She realises, a little late, that his pupils are most definitely dilated. "You didn't seem to be getting around to it," he argues, lifting her wrist to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the skin. She suppresses a shiver and snatches it back from his grip. "Telling him, I mean, not the other thing."

"I was going to," she says, "before you got all…" She makes a vague hand gesture because, despite everything they've said and done, it still feels too presumptuous to say the word.

"Jealous," he finishes. "Possessive. Selfish. All of the above, and more. Lisbon, I want you to understand – I don't want to control your life. I want you to _have_ a life, of course, I just can't stand the thought that _he_ still thinks he can come waltzing in, talking about marriage pacts and making you blush. And all you tell him is 'we talked it out'!"

"I was getting to it," she argues. "And I didn't blush because of John, okay, I blushed because of you!"

He stares at her. "Really?"

"Really!" She's completely exasperated now. "What, I'm supposed to trust you after all the crap you pull, but it's too much for you to do the same?"

His face softens, and she knows he's completely sincere when he says, "Lisbon, I swear to you, you have no idea just how much I trust you. I love you, remember?"

Hearing the words again sends a funny shudder down her spine. "I know," she says softly. "I love you, too."

Immediately she's engulfed in a tight, awkward hug across the desk. She wraps her arms around him as best she can without capsizing, finding herself unable to control the thrill she gets when she realises they'll undoubtedly be doing this a lot in future.

She's in a relationship with Jane.

She. Jane. Together. Romantically.

It's still too hard to process.

When Jane pulls back with an enormous grin on his face, she realises he's probably been thinking along the same lines. They stand there like idiots for a moment or two, and then just as he's opening his mouth to say something, there's a knock on the door and Wainwright opens the door without waiting.

He takes in the sight of the two of them smiling widely at each other and suddenly beams himself. "Fantastic work, you two – I knew you'd resolve things. I was worried I'd have to lock you in here overnight, but I can see that won't be necessary."

She catches Jane's facial expression and knows what he's about to say. Her index finger presses firmly into his forearm through his suit. "No, sir," she agrees. "Everything's settled. We promise – don't we, Jane?"

"Yes we do, Lisbon." It's strange, but she's never realised before just how much he gives away with so little – the tiny lines around his eyes, the precise angle of his lips. She's also never realised how oblivious other people seem to be to those very signs. Right now, his glance is telling her that he wishes she'd given Wainwright the opportunity to lock them in for the night.

She's sure her face reflects a little regret about that as well.

Wainwright's eyes are moving between the two of them. "Uh," he begins awkwardly, "about that clause in your new contracts…"

_Oh, great…_

"I won't be fighting it," he hastens to reassure them. "I mean, if it's gone some way towards this reconciliation, then I'm in full support of your relationship, but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't flaunt it, especially in light of the restrictions that still apply to your colleagues."

"Absolutely," Jane jumps in before she can speak. "It'll be a strictly outside-the-office thing. No funny business whatsoever."

Wainwright actually gives them a thumbs-up. "Excellent. Good to hear. Well, then… back to work."

As he leaves, she can't help noticing that the amount of people-traffic in and around the bullpen is somewhat greater than normal. Especially since half the people milling around are from different units based elsewhere in the building. She rolls her eyes and gestures for Jane to follow her out to the kitchen. "Busy out here, isn't it, Jane?" she says loudly as she puts a fresh pot of coffee on.

"Certainly is, Lisbon." Jane scans the vicinity with relish, flicking the switch on the kettle. "Anyone would think there'd been a murder in the SCU."

"Perhaps more than one?" she suggests.

"They might have come along to congratulate you on your engagement," he counters, with a trace of frostiness.

She examines her bare hand ostentatiously. "How unobservant of them, seeing as I'm no longer wearing the ring."

Jane shrugs, a smile playing on his lips. "That might have raised more questions than it answered, Lisbon."

She grins, reaching up to get her coffee mug and Jane's teacup. "Well, if people are determined to be so nosy…" she begins, just as Jane says, "Oh, let me get that for you, Lisbon," and moves behind her to get the mug. A commotion in the bullpen distracts her, and she trails off, looking around to see what's going on.

Given everything that's happened today, she really shouldn't be surprised by much anymore.

And yet it is a surprise when John Fox comes tearing round the corner, sees Jane practically pressed against her in the kitchen, and strides up to them, red in the face. "You," he says, jabbing Jane in the shoulder. "Outside. Now!"

Jane's expression darkens, and he squares his shoulders. "Gladly," he says through gritted teeth. "Lead the way."

A murmur ripples throughout their audience, and suddenly Lisbon feels very, very tired of tricks and lies and misunderstandings. She puts one hand on John's chest, one hand on Jane's, and very firmly forces them apart. "No," she says clearly. "This ends now. In my office – come on."

This time the ripple is one of disappointment, but is quickly silenced by the deadliest glare she can muster. People begin to disperse, and she starts to push the two of them towards her office. But Jane stops her, covering her hand with his own. "Lisbon," he says softly, "I think it would be better if I talked this one out with John alone."

She frowns at him. "I'm not so sure that's a good –"

"No violence, I promise," he says solemnly. "Well, not from me, anyway."

John bristles. "Just to be clear," he says, his eyes dropping momentarily to Jane's hand on Lisbon's, "I think you _deserve_ a broken nose, and probably worse. But if Teresa wants you unharmed, then I'll do my best to resist."

"Thank you," she addresses John directly. "Come and see me before you go, okay?"

"Of course." He pats her shoulder, and she watches the two of them disappear down the hallway with no small amount of trepidation.

* * *

**Author's Note:** In my heart of hearts, I don't see Jane as a caveman type of person, but I enjoy seeing him behave possessively and act with a more primitive mindset, so apologies if you read this and felt it wasn't true to him; chalk it up to a bit of author indulgence. The final chapter will bring a resolution for all parties concerned. I have loved writing this story so much, and I really hope you've enjoyed reading it. Will be forever grateful for your reviews!


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: **Ebulliometry: A Crash Course

**Disclaimer**: Property of Bruno Heller

**Author's Note: **I'm so sorry for the delay with this! It's actually been written for ages, but things have been crazy at work and I haven't had time to do that all-important last edit before finally committing to posting. This is the final chapter of Ebulliometry, and I just want to mention the title again - I'm not sure whether I ever really explained why I picked it, but the idea in my mind was that Jane's boiling point - something we've yet to truly see on the show - was reached, or perhaps altered, by the arrival of John Fox.

[**Sidenote:** if there are any chemists reading this, I'm sure I've displayed a fundamental lack of understanding of the underlying principles of this; please excuse my ignorance. I would learn about it better if I could, but I seem to spend all my time online staring at pictures of Robin Tunney and Simon Baker instead...]

* * *

They do go outside, as it happens, but not the front of the building; Jane leads John Fox to the small public garden one block away from the CBI building. Fewer prying eyes or straining ears, he reasons.

John starts, as he'd expected. "You son of a bitch." He seems to be trying to control his breathing – and his temper. "Son of a bitch," he repeats, more to himself this time.

"I'm sorry," Jane interjects.

John looks directly at him, startled.

"For what I said on the phone, earlier," Jane clarifies. "It was… childish, and pathetic, and selfish. I didn't behave like a gentleman or even a man. Lisbon deserved better, and… so do you."

John scoffs. "You're damn right – she does deserve better."

"Says the man flying to the other side of the country," Jane snipes.

John's jaw tightens. "Don't you think I'd stay, if I thought it was what she wanted?" He takes a step back, running a hand through his hair with frustration. "Look, this isn't just jealousy, okay? I mean, yeah, I want to beat the living shit out of you, obviously, but I don't have any kind of prior claim here. She's a free woman. She can do whatever – _whoever_ – she wants. But she's my friend, too. I care about her."

"At last," Jane mutters, feeling a little wrong-footed by so much honesty, "something we have in common."

"She deserves better than you embarrassing her like that just because of your ego. And I don't know what the _hell_ was going on earlier with your 'here's Johnny' routine, but you keep doing that and best case scenario, she'll get sick of it. Worst case scenario, she gets hurt because of it."

John steps up to him again, and Jane can't help but feel something positive towards him, even if he struggles to define it.

This man loves Lisbon – he has no right to object to that – but even more, John Fox will want the best for her even if it means giving her up. That's admirable. In fact, it's downright likeable. Lisbon can never have too many allies, in Jane's view.

But Jane will give up tea for coffee before he'll ever admit to liking John Fox, even a little.

Instead, he nods. "You're right, of course. And you can rest assured that I plan to spend the rest of my life making sure she never gets hurt again."

John nods, not quite looking at him. "Rest of your life, huh?"

"Mm-hmm." Jane's voice is a little hard when he adds, "So don't go making any hotel reservations in Vegas, okay?"

John's head shoots up. "She told you?"

He shrugs. "Well, I saw the text. She filled in the gaps."

"Son of a bitch," says John again, but there's no anger there anymore. "If I were a better man, I'd wish you every happiness, but personally? I hope she turns up on my doorstep in two days and says she's dumped your sorry ass." There's a half-smile on his face as he says it, as if he knows it'll never happen. "Still, I've got one thing going for me."

Jane eyes him cautiously. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

The satisfied gleam in John's eyes gives him away entirely. "I kissed her first."

The anger stirring in Jane's chest isn't half as potent as it was earlier. Of course, it helps that he has his own memories of Lisbon's hot mouth against his in full sensory detail to recall to mind… but her kisses with John will always be an unknown quantity.

John is still talking. "And if you screw this up Jane, I swear, I'll make sure _I'm_ the one kissing her for the rest of _both_ our lives."

"Understood," Jane mutters gruffly. He can't deny, after all, that the potential to screw this up horribly still exists. But he knows that if he does, it won't be the end for them. He can't allow that. He doesn't share this sentiment with John Fox, however. Instead, he says, "You're a decent person, I suppose."

"Oh, thank you," says John, voice laden with sarcasm.

"If something ever happened to me," Jane continues, "I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing if you were to be around for her."

"Try and keep me away." Although it sounds like a challenge, John is looking a little more relaxed, a hint of a smile on his face. "I'll be out here before you're cold in your grave."

Jane can't help but give a little huff of laughter. "Have I mentioned what a stand-up guy you are?"

"No, but when you hugged me this morning, I knew we'd be best friends forever."

They trade a look of mutual understanding combined with an odd mix of irritation and outright annoyance. And then they nod at each other as though this is perfectly normal, and begin to walk back to the CBI building.

* * *

Lisbon is aware that by now, gossip in the office is raging out of control.

She also knows that Brenda is to blame for the majority of it. The most popular story she seems to be hearing is that she's pregnant with Jane's child but doesn't think he's mentally stable enough to be the father; John Fox is apparently her 'safety' choice, rescuing her from the madman and whisking her off to Washington to make an honest woman of her. Jane, being Jane, has supposedly figured all of this out and lost what remains of his mind, threatening her to stay in California or else. And now he and John have disappeared to murder each other in a duel. The consensus, apparently, is that if they both die, Cho should be the one to step up and marry her.

Evidently, her worries about not having enough of a life compared to her colleagues have been somewhat unfounded all these years.

Still, she accepts that she probably doesn't help matters by pacing around her office straightening the hell out of everything and snapping at anyone who walks through the door.

When Jane and John get back, she doesn't bother to hide her relief – or her obvious inspection for war wounds.

"See, Lisbon," says Jane knowingly, "didn't I promise? No violence – from either of us."

"Well, I'm glad," she says honestly. Then, without preamble, "Jane, you need to go and see Brenda and put everything straight, or this will all be a lot worse by tomorrow."

He tuts, exasperated. "Honestly, Lisbon, what harm is it doing? I mean, really, these people trudge in and out of work every day, do the same boring things over and over again, and then the three of us come along and stir everything up." He makes a gesture as though he's mixing the contents of a large cauldron with two spoons. "A little interest in their lives. Something to talk about, to _connect_ with. Consider it a good deed, Lisbon."

"Yes," she says pleasantly, "that's nice, Jane, but if I hear one more person saying I'm pregnant with triplets, I'm going to snap and kill _everybody_."

Jane whistles and glances at her stomach automatically. "Well, now that's just baffling. You're tiny; where are they getting the idea of _three_ from, let alone one?"

"I don't know," she says impatiently, "but seriously – Brenda. Now. _Go_."

"All right, all right…" He glances back at John before he leaves. "Hands off my pregnant fiancée," he instructs, loudly enough to be heard by the – thankfully few – people in the vicinity.

She growls with frustration. "He's enjoying this," she mutters, almost to herself. "_Of course_."

Looking at John feels different now, which she guesses is to be expected, but it's a little sad nonetheless. "So," he says sheepishly, "you and him."

"Uh…" She darts past him and pushes her office door closed. "We're trying to keep it quiet, but… yeah. Me and him."

He raises an eyebrow and points his thumb over his shoulder. "Did he understand the message about keeping it quiet? Because he's like a one-man broadcasting system, I don't know if you noticed…"

She laughs, fiddling self-consciously with her hair. "Yeah, that's Jane alright." She glances at him. "Listen, John… I'm – I don't want you to think that I was trying to-"

He holds up his hands quickly. "It's okay. We didn't… We never made any promises to each other, Teresa. And much as I was looking forward to coming back here next year and whisking you off to Vegas, I'd much rather see you happy right now. That is… if you are? Happy, I mean."

She has no way of knowing it, but the genuine, gentle smile on her face reflects exactly how happy she is, and it rips John's heart right out of his chest.

"Well, then," he says, with false brightness, "I guess that answers my question."

Something painful clenches inside her chest. "John…"

"Hush," he says softly, opening his arms up. "Just hug me and tell me you'll name your firstborn after me."

She does hug him, at least. "You know I'm not pregnant, right?"

He glances down at her sceptically. "I dunno. That was a pretty big steak last night – could be a food baby in there." And he has the audacity to pat her abdomen.

What remains of their dedicated audience is treated to the sight of Teresa Lisbon chasing John Fox out of her office, whacking him over the head with a rolled-up case file.

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

"Damn it," Lisbon curses. "Damn it all to hell."

Jane, passing her office, chooses to interpret this as some kind of satanic invocation designed to summon him. "You rang?" he intones in a deep voice, lurking in her doorway.

She aims a lethal glare at him. "Do you have _any_ idea what you've done?"

He pauses for a moment, racking his brains. She could be referring to anything. He's already committed at least three wrongs just this morning that he's aware of (although, to his memory, she'd been present for two of them and hadn't complained once. In fact, she hadn't been very coherent at all).

On the other hand, it could be a trick question along the lines of, 'son, do you know how fast you were going?'

Everybody knows that there is no right answer to that question. Except maybe, "No hablo ingles."

Somehow, he thinks that won't quite cut it with Lisbon. He clears his throat. "Uh, could you be more specific?"

She waves her phone rather threateningly at him. "_This_, Jane. You told me you got the store to disable Autocorrect!"

"Ah." In fairness, he'd asked them to. But then the extremely helpful assistant had started to teach him how to personalise the phone - something he wouldn't have had the first clue about doing otherwise - and the opportunity to mess around with her ringtones and provide her with a stock of photos of himself in funny poses had been utterly distracting. "Well, you know how it is, Lisbon, sometimes these devices have minds of their own."

She places her hands flat on the desk, inhales deeply through her nose and exhales out through her mouth. She's either trying to calm down or gathering the strength to vaporise him with one glance. "Jane," she says at last, "I changed my mind. I don't want this anymore."

Something twists violently inside him.

"Too bad," he says, his voice hard. "You're stuck with me."

When she opens her eyes, they're full of astonishment. "I meant the phone!" she says, as though this should be obvious. "I trusted you to pick a good one, and you got a touchscreen. I can't type worth a damn with this thing."

Relief makes him beam like a crazed child; he moves to perch on her desk, deliberately planting his hand close to hers. "You'll get used to it," he tells her. "Besides, by 'a good one' you meant the exact same model you had before. Face it, Lisbon, technology has advanced far beyond three menu options and a 1 megapixel camera."

She scowls again, but allows her little finger to rest just next to his thumb.

This is their version of 'keeping it out of the office'. Jane feels it demonstrates immense restraint on both their parts.

She leans a little closer, and his breath hitches in his chest. "Jane?" she says softly, angling her head so he can see that perfect, delicious dip behind her collarbone.

"Yes?" It's almost a plea, and he finds himself inclining his head towards hers.

"Kindly remove the photo of your butt from my home screen background, or I will _remove_ something of yours."

He deflates a little as she pulls back, disappointment conflicting with the thrill of anticipation still racing through his veins. "Bad girl," he murmurs, holding her gaze long enough to convey the idea that he's having some pretty impure thoughts right now. It's perversely satisfying to see her wriggle in her seat and know that she'll be thinking about it for the rest of the day.

He pushes himself away from her desk and goes to flop gracelessly onto her couch. "Dinner later?" he asks casually. "I was thinking we could go to that steak place you love."

Her nose wrinkles with curiosity. "Really? There's not a lot on the menu that you'd enjoy."

He shrugs. "I'll find something. Besides," he casts a wicked look in her direction, "I thought we could create a scandal by running the 'disastrous proposal' con again. Same staff, of course."

She flicks a little bit of paper at him; it falls short and lands next to him on the couch. "No, Jane," she says sternly, "it was so embarrassing the last time. Can you imagine what they'd think of me if I turned up with a different guy?"

"Obviously, that you're a smart, vivacious woman who deserves the attention of as many men as she desires." He says this matter-of-factly, because of course it's the truth – but he knows she'll blush anyway, because she resists compliments in the same way that superbugs resist antibiotics.

"Shut up," she says self-consciously, and ducks behind her computer.

He rearranges her cushions and makes himself comfortable, closing his eyes and listening to the soothing sound of her gentle fingers against the keyboard. It isn't the first time he's brought up the idea of doing another fake proposal, and the truth is, he doesn't raise the subject because he _actually_ wants to do it – he mentions it because he's running a new con.

A con that involves desensitising Teresa Lisbon to the idea of a proposal. Specifically, training her to believe that he's joking every time he brings it up. Training her not to dwell on anything he says and to take pretty much everything with a pinch of salt.

He cracks one eye open to peek at her sitting comfortably at her desk. She's completely relaxed, flipping idly through a file to check something before she continues typing.

He supposes she's had a lot of practice at not taking him seriously over the last eight years.

It bothers him a little, of course, but right now it's working for him.

Because there's a day coming – a day that's been long in the planning – when he intends to lay everything on the line and ask her to put the rest of her life in his hands.

And when that day comes, he'll do absolutely anything to make sure that her answer is 'yes'.

* * *

**Author's Note:** *sigh* So there we go - the end of a story I have enjoyed writing so, so much. Even more than that, I've been absolutely over the moon to read each and every review/favourite etc. Thank you so much for sticking with me, and for giving so much love to an original character (John of course) when you were in no way obliged to even like him! I hope you enjoyed this final chapter, and I can't wait to be a slave to many more plot bunnies in the future (provided the last 4 episodes of Season 5 don't leave me a traumatised, useless husk).


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